Long distance
by Lilya
Summary: All favorite toys have stories behind them, but Regulus Black spent his childhood with crayons in hand. But his drawings went a long distance.
1. Name

Title: Long distance

Author: Lilya

Genre: Family.

Summary: All favorite toys have stories behind them – but Regulus spent his childhood with crayons in hand. But his drawings went a long distance.

Main characters: Kreacher, Regulus Black, Walburga & Orion Black

Rating: G

Disclaimer: They belong to J. K. Rowling. Partially inspired by the essays at the Red Hen.

**Long distance**

**I. Name**

_May __1966 _

The nameless House-Elf lifted the heavy kettle from the stove and poured the hot water in the two waiting teapots, then stood back to check everything.

Three trays, each one with its proper tea set and the proper assortment of biscuits, stood on the kitchen table, ready to be delivered.

He glanced at the clock: it was twenty-nine minutes past four. Perfectly on time.

Grabbing the tray on the right, he disappeared with a faint pop.

It was not Sunday, Master and Mistress Black were expecting no guests – which meant the white china tea set and the private sitting room at the third floor.

The tray was placed on the low table in front of the sofas right before the clocks in the house stuck the half hour.

At the same time, Orion and Walburga Black walked into the room, conversing between themselves and tanking no notice of the House-Elf bowing so low he was seriously risking to topple over.

Walburga eyed the tray critically, but her harsh eyes softened marginally when she spotted her favorite biscuits neatly arranged on a plate.

"Well done, creature." she said as she sat down.

He bowed again. "House-elf is glad Mistress Black is pleased, Mistress Black."

"Did you already bring the tea to Master Sirius and Mr. Brocklehurst, creature?" Orion asked, leaning back against the sofa.

"No, Master Black, House-elf hasn't. House-elf knows he must serve the Master and Mistress first." He replied, holding very still.

"Yes, yes…Tell Mr. Brocklehurst Sirius is not to have any biscuits with his tea. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Black, House-elf will tell Mr. Brocklehurst now, sir."

"Good. Go now, creature."

With another bow and a pop, the House-Elf was gone.

Within seconds, the House-Elf delivered the second tray – the blue, less expensive tea set – to the school room and reported the Master's order, earning himself a glare from Little Master Sirius for his troubles.

Not that he was surprised: the child was such a disappointment, he had always been.

The House-Elf sighed. House-Elves had their own names in the ancient, almost forgotten Elfin tongue, but their Masters often gave them new, special ones to use.

It was a sign you Belonged – to what, his mother never said, but it was Important.

Very important indeed, since the new names were usually made up by the children of the house.

After all, only children saw them coming and going all the time and even spent time in their company.

Names didn't change with every generation, but sooner or later a child would have troubles pronouncing a letter or two, or simply wouldn't like it and change it to a new one, which would be soon adopted by the whole family.

The House-Elf shook his head sadly. It hadn't been his case for years and years now, not since before Master Phineas Nigellus and it didn't look like it would change soon.

Still, it was not proper to waste time while Little Master Regulus was still waiting for his snack.

Grabbing the last tray – a glass of milk, two toasts with jam and one with honey – he Apparated right into the nursery.

The curtains had been pushed back and sunlight shone in through the window. All sort of toys were scattered across the carpet, some of them half-hidden beneath sheets of paper.

A black-haired, black-eyed child lay on his stomach in the middle of the room, surrounded by more and more carelessly strewn papers, a box of crayons in every possible color right beside him.

As soon as he heard the tell-tale pop, he looked up and squealed in delight. "Hello!"

"Your tea, Master Regulus." The elf said as he placed the tray on the low table.

"Can't I eat here?"

"Master and Mistress Black do not approve, no, Master Regulus."

With a dramatic sigh, the child put down his blue crayon and went to sit down on the tiny chair, though his pout disappeared after the first bite of toast.

The House-Elf stood by, watching over him as he ate. Once Regulus was finished, the House-Elf ignored his theatrical sighs and eye-rolling as he cleaned his chin with a napkin.

"Can I go now?"

"Mistress Black always wants Master Regulus to wash his hands after Master Regulus ate, Little Master."

Grumbling, the child walked to the bathroom while the House-Elf started cleaning up, piling everything back on the tray.

Regulus came back right when he was about to Apparate back into the kitchen. "Wait!"

The House-Elf stood still, staring at him curiously. Regulus hurried across the room and dove to his knees, scattering more papers around as he looked for something.

With a small cry of joy, he jumped back to his knees and hurried back to the House-Elf, holding a sheet in his small hands.

"For you." He said as he handed it to him.

Hesitantly, the House-Elf took it. His large eyes filled with tears.

On the paper, Regulus had drawn a creature with long arms and legs sticking out from a white triangle, a big round head wit two pointy bits sticking up by its side and two lopsided, grey circles for eyes. In one hand it held a crude teapot and in the other a long stick with a sort of cloud around it – which was probably supposed to be a feather duster.

And right above it, as if hovering in the air, there was his new name in big, crooked letters:

_**K**rE__ACh**e**r_

* * *

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	2. Blood

**II. Blood**

_June __1985_

The distant buzzing sounds of the early afternoon wafted through the open window, along with a warm breeze that made the drapes sway gently.

Sunlight danced across the room, shining on the vanity's large mirror, glinting of the bottles of all sizes lined on the bedside table and caressing the gaunt face of the woman lying in bed.

Walburga Black had taken from her mother's side – she knew she would not age gracefully, unlike Lucretia. The years had etched lines of anger and pain on her face, then the illness had proceeded to carve them even deeper and gray her hair.

Regulus' old drawings rustled as she slowly went through them – colorful relics of a time long passed.

Even while her eyes watched them, carefully studying every line of crayon, her mind wandered.

She thought of Orion, her husband – they had not married out of love, not as her romantic schoolmates intended it, but it had been a good match, a good marriage. As long as the two of them were concerned, anyway.

It still hurt to think about him, for now she always remembered him not as the proud, handsome youth she had married, but as the broken, weary man in his last year. She saw him sitting on Regulus' bed, in Regulus' devastatingly empty room, with this very folder on his knees.

Oh, yes, Regulus had always been his father's favorite, whether he knew this or not.

Unconsciously, Walburga caressed the letters scribbled on the lower corner of the drawing.

As far she was concerned, it had been grief that had killed him, grief over the loss of his favorite son.

Ah, Regulus… what a slap it had been when they had found out he had become a Death Eater! She had never screamed so much, not even with Sirius – and poor Orion, it had been a miracle his heart had not failed him right there and then.

Staring at the drawings without seeing them, Walbruga smiled bitterly.

As the saying went, the wheel had come full circle – Merlin, if it had!

It was ironic, really – she wondered if Sirius had ever appreciated the irony, before the Dementors destroyed his mind.

Black blood made you untouchable – once.

Not anymore. Now it was ruined, all ruined…forever.

Thrown in Azkaban without a trial – it was the law, yes, but she had to wonder if being a Black, a member of a notoriously purity-concerned family, had not had some influence over that.

She would not believe he was guilty – it was simply impossible.

Sirius was so stubborn, so Muggle-loving… He would have never joined We-all-know-who, not even to spite them.

He probably thought it would have made them proud.

As Regulus had thought… poor foolish Regulus.

Walburga knew her father-in-law had been fishing around the Ministry pool to find out whether there was a chance to have him released, but, after Bellatrix's arrest, it was all in vain.

The name of their family was tainted forever.

And all because of that _**scum**_ Riddle!

Not to mention dear Bellatrix – she was extremely lucky Walburga could not leave her bed, otherwise she would have found herself blasted off the tapestry in the parlor as well.

She had long wondered how the poison had entered their family… Just remembering how she had acted after Regulus' disappearance made her blood boil.

Walburga closed the folder with her son's drawings and placed it on her bedside table, then waved her wand: across the room, a lap desk rose from its shelf and floated shakily to her.

Even her magic had begun to wane.

Walburga opened the lid and laid out quills, parchment and ink according to their proper place.

Her sharp handwriting cut the whiteness of the paper without hesitations.

_**My honored father-in-law,**_

_**As you know, my conditions are worsening steadily and it is doubtful I will live to the end of summer: with this letter, I intend to settle all my business once and for all. **_

_**These last months allowed me to reflect on many things. As much as I opposed your idea of reinserting my wayward son as your heir before, now I give you my consent and my complete approval.**_

_**If only for the memory of my dearest husband that binds us, dear uncle Arcturus, I will not allow this house to fall into the hands of those spineless fruits of my brother's body, whatever the Fates might throw at us. **_

_**There is not much I can do anymore, but all the advantages I can deny to those who ruined our House, I shall. **_

_**My mind would receive much comfort if you would provide all the necessary arrangements immediately. Should there be anything to sign, I will not balk.**_

_**Write me back soon and keep me informed on your progressions. **_

_**Your ever-loyal daughter-in-law, **_

_**Walburga Black**_

Once finished, she folded the parchment and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it with her own signet ring.

"Kreacher!" she called as she placed her writing instruments back into the desk.

With a soft crack, the elderly House-Elf appeared and bowed to the ground. "Mistress Black…"

Walburga held out the letter. "Bring it to Master Arcturus Black, immediately."

Clutching the letter in his bony fingers, Kreacher bowed again and Disapparated.

Walburga leaned back on her pillows, exhausted, and turned to face the open window in search of some fresh air.

* * *

As usual, this piece was inspired by one of the Red Hen's essays. Regulus' drawings and the part they played is completely my idea - I also added my personal answer to whether Orion Black died before or after his son.

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	3. Brother

**I****II. Brother **

_April 1996 _

He could feel the wind blowing outside, whistling as it chased white clouds and bumped against the walls. A few puddles lingered on the sidewalks, reflecting the pale sun.

Sirius Black was literally fuming. As much as he hated the house, it wasn't so bad to be stuck there when outside it rained cats and dogs, but, unfortunately for him, even rain in England didn't stay forever. He could have sworn the weather itself was calling out to him.

It was torture, a downright torture.

Not even re-reading Harry's letter could distract him.

"Who would have thought someday this house would become way too silent…" he mused out loud.

Unfortunately, no member of the order was scheduled to drop by, not for a couple of weeks. That was, unless he lost his mind before that.

Still grumbling to himself, Sirius stood up and headed upstairs, to Buckbeak's stable.

The hippogriff was restless as well, probably feeling the call of the wind. Sirius patted the hippogriff's shoulder, an acid grin curving his mouth as he took in the ruined room: the bed was beyond repair, Walburga's vanity had been smashed by a couple of well-placed kicks and the bedside table was only fit for a fireplace.

"Kreacher's going to have a fit when he comes to tidy up…" Sirius remarked, still grinning at the wreck.

The bedside table was going to be particularly hard to clean up, with all the spilled potions and ink. Something caught his eye and made him look back again: there was an open folder in a corner, its contents scattered on the floor and half-hidden among Buckbeak's hay. He would have missed it he hadn't been admiring the hippogriff's decorating skills so closely.

Sirius gently moved his four-legged friend out of the way as he went to retrieve them.

"Sorry, buddy," he said as Buckbeack neighed. "It's probably just a bunch of useless letters anyway…"

He picked them up and glanced down at the first sheet, almost dropping the whole folder in shock: it was no letter, but an old drawing, now smothered beneath a layer of ink. The ghost of a figure was barely visible around the blot, but he realized what it was supposed to be only thanks to the thick letters scribbled on top – "Me."

A memory floated, unbidden, to the surface: a little boy laying on his belly in the middle of a bright room while drawing and coloring away, black eyes dancing with mirth, thin lips pressed in concentration – he had never lost that habit, not even growing up…

Sirius had to grab the wall for support: his knees were shacking too much.

Regulus' drawings.

He remembered, now, how he used to spend hours and hours drawing, filling sheet upon sheet with colorful pictures and crooked letters. He remembered his own impatience, his inability to understand why his brother like such a boring past-time when there were much more exciting games.

Sirius sat down on the less-collapsed part of the bed, laying the folder on his knees.

Carefully, he started studying each and every one of them.

Their house painted in purple and green.

A lawn with threes – perhaps it was meant to be a wood, but the only writing on that one was a "R. A. B." in a corner.

A Christmas tree with presents.

Their parents' faces with "mommy" and "daddy" written above, respectively in pink and dark blue.

Lines and spirals of different colors crisscrossing all over the paper.

A fox.

Two people – knights? – fighting with not-exactly-straight swords.

A light haired girl in a long white dress, picking flowers, with colorful letters proudly announcing her name was Cissi.

A bright orange dragon with outspread wings.

A beach of yellow sand, with a cyan and blue sea that covered the rest of the paper – where had they been again? Cornwall? Dorset?

Last, a smiling black-haired boy with a broom in one hand and a wand in the other. His name had been scribbled in blue: Sirius.

He would have liked to say they looked as good as new, but it would have been too big a lie.

Even Teener & Spools products suffered the passage of time: those drawings were about 30 years old and certainly their parents wouldn't have allowed little Reggie to put his hands and crayons on the first-quality paper they used to write on.

The ink and, above all, the potions and salves spilled by the smashing of the bedside table had soaked them thoroughly and subsequently dried, leaving all sort of stains. If caught immediately, a Vanishing Spell or a scouring Charm could have undone the damage – but now it was too late.

All the drawings were irreversibly ruined.

Sirius covered his eyes with a hand, stubbornly pushing back the tears for his own flesh and blood. His very soul was writhing with pain – for the child he had been, for the boy he had become.

For his brother Regulus, who now was lost forever.

* * *

Our story ends here.

I hope Sirius fans won't kill me, but he didn't seem to be very close to his brother. From his words when he first mentioned him, he seemed more disdainful of his choice than pained for his loss.

Perhaps I'm reading too much in that, but hey - isn't that what ff is for? Though I have to admit my characterization owes a lot to the character essay at Red Hen's Publications (go read them.)

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